


Chiaroscuro

by micehell



Series: chiaroscuro [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-07
Updated: 2005-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn't been able to see much, understand much, in the crazy play of light and shadow in the alley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiaroscuro

The brick was rough beneath his hands, palms pressed hard into the coarse texture by the weight of the body behind him, by the rough hands that traced along his arms.

It had been so long. Since before McMurdo, in any real way. There had been Chaya and the not-really-sex sex, but though that had felt really good in its way, it hadn't helped his dick any.

The hands were up under his arms now, poking into the nerve bundles there with just a little too much enthusiasm, moving across his chest, not lingering.

He'd been desperate. Almost a year at McMurdo doing what he had to just to fly. A year in Atlantis doing what he had to just to survive. But always wanting, wanting things he couldn't have. And now they were going back, and there'd been no time; debriefing after debriefing, and, damn it, never the right kind.

The hands were on his hips, and though his legs were spread, braced, the movement jerked his hips forward, bruising, into the hard wall.

If what he'd wanted had been impossible as a Major, it would be even more so as a Colonel, Lieutenant or otherwise. He'd just been so tired, just needed a little release. A seedy bar, a nameless man, a dark alley. So cliché. So necessary.

The wall hurt his hands, hurt his hips. The pain would have transmuted itself into pleasure if the intent had been different. If the touch were his nameless partner, also looking for release. John wasn't sure if the hands belonged to a military policeman or just the normal kind; he hadn't been able to see much, understand much, in the crazy play of light and shadow in the alley, in the sudden shouting, in the way his head swirled after being knocked to the ground by his partner's headlong rush to escape.

But he'd come to understand as he was pulled up, as he was pushed into the position, much like the one he'd willingly been in just moments before, as he was frisked for weapons. And MP or not, the end result would be the same. Disgrace. Dismissal. No more flying. No more Atlantis.

He'd known the risk, thought he could take it. Was desperate enough to take it. "I was just tired of being alone."

He only knows he's said it out loud when the person behind him freezes, startled breath in his ear. Then the hands are back, lower now, firmer. Too familiar, touching him. He pulls away, but the larger mass behind him pushes forward, grinding him into the wall.

John hadn't been resisting, even his disdain of authority only goes so far, but now he's fighting. Rough he can deal with, rough he sometimes likes, but rape isn't a choice, and he might have been searching for a stranger, but this is stranger than he wants.

But it's Rodney's voice in his ear, and Rodney's hands still his fight. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just me. I shouldn't have done that. But after I saw what you were doing, I'd just...." His voice tails off, confused.  
And John's confused over how Rodney came to be here, over why, but before he can ask any questions, Rodney is. "Is that why you've been acting so strange, why you did this? Is that why you risked everything: your career, Caldwell being in charge of Atlantis? Because you're lonely?"

John can't think. Rodney's still pressed up against him, and it's too close, too close to what he can't have. He thinks about lying, but he's too tired for even that. "It's been so long. You don't know what it's like."

"Oh, yes, because I couldn't possibly know what it's like to not be getting any sex." The sarcasm is pure McKay, and John's missed that under the cold mountain, under the endless rounds of questions.

Before John can argue, explain, Rodney's hands are moving again, and what was intrusive before feels good now, and he's wanted this for so long. His hips give a betraying jerk, hard, harder, against the brick.

But this is Rodney. This is someone he leads, someone he follows, and he can't have this. He can't. "No."

Rodney stills, waiting. Waiting for no to turn to yes, but John can't. He can't. He turns his head, an awkward angle, an awkward need to see. "No."

And the voice isn't sarcastic, and it isn't remote. It's sharp, and full, cutting with its need. "Why a stranger, but not me?" In the stripes of shadow and light, one of Rodney's eyes shines bright while the other darkens in emotions that John can only begin to read.

"A stranger. An alley. Sex. It's over. What's hard to understand about that, Rodney?"

Rodney nods, and there's understanding on his face. And that stubborn jut of jaw. "A friend. A hotel room. Sex. It's just started. What's hard to understand about that?"

John took a risk coming here tonight. In trying to find some momentary relief. As much as he tries to believe otherwise, John is pretty reckless. He'll risk his career. He'll risk his life. He'll risk anything that he can stand to lose.

Silence stretches between them, widening the gap between their bodies.

Rodney sighs, lets go. He turns and walks away, walking out of the shadows. "You know where I'm staying," floats back behind him. And then he's gone.

And John's still leaning against the wall, legs spread, wondering how much he can stand to lose.

 

/story


End file.
